


Precipitating Factors

by Brynncognito



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Begging, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Freckles, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hand Jobs, Holding Hands, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Needy Crowley (Good Omens), Orgasm Control, Other, Smut, St. James's Park (Good Omens), Sub Crowley (Good Omens), The Wall Scene, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 12:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20358514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynncognito/pseuds/Brynncognito
Summary: The first thought which crosses Aziraphale’s mind when Crowley shoves him against the wall, snarling that he isn’t nice, is (absurdly, inappropriately) that Crowley smells nice. There’s a deep, musky undertone to his scent that’s either cologne or something demonic, and Aziraphale really shouldn’t find it as attractive, as appetizing as he does no matter what the source.The second thought which crosses his mind is that he’d really like to kiss Crowley.





	Precipitating Factors

**Author's Note:**

> Wherein I cannot get over the way Aziraphale stares at Crowley's lips and reluctantly drags his gaze away when they're interrupted. You're welcome.
> 
> Many thanks to Jadelyn on tumblr for the beta yet again!

The first thought which crosses Aziraphale’s mind when Crowley shoves him against the wall, snarling that he isn’t nice, is (absurdly,  _ inappropriately _ ) that Crowley smells  _ nice _ . There’s a deep, musky undertone to his scent that’s either cologne or something demonic, and Aziraphale really shouldn’t find it as attractive, as  _ appetizing _ as he does no matter what the source.

The second thought which crosses his mind is that he’d  _ really _ like to kiss Crowley. This isn’t a new impulse, mind, not by a long shot. But while Aziraphale’s normally found it easy enough to shove any romantic Crowley-centered urges way, way down, there’s something too  _ intimate _ about the moment. He realizes abruptly he’s entirely tuned out what Crowley’s saying, and he’s simultaneously disappointed and relieved when Sister Mary Hodges interrupts (and of  _ course _ she has to draw attention to the very intimacy he’d been trying to ignore). Fortunately (and unfortunately), Crowley’s clearly too distracted by her appearance to notice the way Aziraphale had been staring at his lips.

Aziraphale inhales a bit shakily as he straightens his bowtie and smooths out the wrinkles Crowley’s left in his suit (trying not to imagine, as he does, the pair of them leaving the same tight-fisted wrinkles in his bedsheets). Then, they’re bickering like old times and trying to interrogate the former Satanic nun, and altogether they’re entirely too busy trying to save the world for Aziraphale to linger overly long on that tense, intimate moment.

* * *

Something about the world nearly ending puts things a bit into perspective for Aziraphale. For one thing, he’s finally learned (the hard way) that Crowley was right when he said they were on their own side. Heaven had been no help at all, and then they’d tried to _ murder _ him, on top of trying to destroy the world just to prove they were better than Hell. Honestly, it was just _rude_.

For another thing, he’s come to terms with the fact that he is utterly, unequivocally in love with the Serpent of Eden. 

Dining at the Ritz, toasting to the world (to each other) is truly delightful, and it feels like millennia of weight (and of heavenly duty) has been lifted from his shoulders. Aziraphale’s smiling, knows he’s outright  _ beaming _ and truly struggling to keep his glow from becoming more literal. And then, it’s the easiest thing in the world to slide his hand into Crowley’s as they walk afterward, Crowley’s long-legged stride carrying them leisurely through the heart of London. Crowley turns a startled look his way, but Aziraphale is serene and so very  _ confident _ in his affection that he finally relaxes, giving a fond little smile right back at him as he squeezes his hand.

They end up at St. James’s Park, naturally, and Aziraphale’s switched from simply holding Crowley’s hand to wrapping his arms around Crowley’s, leaning into him like a lovestruck teenager. The quirk of Crowley’s lips is equally dopey, and the evening has grown dark enough he’s tucked his sunglasses away for now. His serpentine gaze is staring intently,  _ lovingly _ into Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale feels so full of love he could burst.

It feels like no effort at all to lean in just a little bit more, a hand cupping Crowley’s cheek as he kisses him. The soft brush of his lips against Crowley’s should feel anticlimactic after 6,000 years, but it just feels final and  _ resolute _ , the perfect culmination of a back-and-forth dance spanning millennia. Crowley’s the one who lets out a soft whimper, but it draws a nearly identical sound from Aziraphale in response as he presses himself closer, desperate and fond and  _ hopelessly _ in love.  
  
They both pull back after a moment, if only so they won’t do something truly obscene while still in public (although a wicked part of Aziraphale is tempted to ask Crowley to freeze time for him again, so he doesn’t have to wait a second longer to have Crowley’s bare flesh pressed against his). They both take a moment to settle their breathing and heart rates, fingers intertwined because now that they’ve taken this step, neither of them can quite stand being physically apart for more than a second.    


While their stroll into the park had been full of conversation, story-telling, reminiscing, and banter, their walk back is quiet, not  _ peaceful _ so much as anticipatory. Aziraphale tries very hard not to vibrate out of his skin. Judging by the amused glance Crowley tosses at him, he’s only partially successful. 

They end up at Aziraphale’s bookshop, new and familiar all at once, and Aziraphale draws Crowley in for another kiss in the doorway, tugging him in with round fists anchored in the lapels of Crowley’s jacket. This one is long and lingering, warm and exquisitely vibrant. It leaves them both breathless, their bodies forgetting for a moment that they don’t quite  _ need _ to breathe. 

Aziraphale leans his head against Crowley’s, foreheads pressed together while they inhale and exhale in unison, the night breeze stirring the hairs at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. He shivers involuntarily, and Crowley makes a small noise of concern, turning Aziraphale’s collar up against the chill. Warmth blossoms in Aziraphale’s chest anew, and he’s certain he’ll never stop falling more and more in love with this beautiful, darling creature before him.

“I love you,” Aziraphale finally murmurs, after the silence has settled so long between them that even their hearts have begun to beat as one. Watching the smile that spreads across Crowley’s face is like gazing into the white-hot rising sun, and Aziraphale’s breath catches once more.    
  
“Angel,” Crowley murmurs, and in that single word, that term of endearment, is written centuries of adoration. Aziraphale’s eyes close momentarily as he feels it wash over him.  _ Love. _ Deeper than anything he’d ever sensed at the former hospital, or within Tadfield itself, loved as it was by the young Antichrist. Crowley’s love is fathomless, both warm and scorching, and Aziraphale lets out a quiet whimper as eddies of lust lap at his shores.

“All right?” Crowley mumurs, soft and somehow  _ uncertain _ , even now, clearly worried that this will be too much for Aziraphale, possibly even that he’ll cause Aziraphale to Fall. 

Aziraphale gives a bit of a shudder, and the way he presses close to Crowley, his Effort clear, makes the latter chuckle, even as he tucks an errant curl behind the angel’s ear.

“How long?” Aziraphale asks after a moment. He knows they should probably go inside, should continue what they’d started at the park, but there’s something so quiet and  _ perfect _ about this moment that he can’t help but prolong it just a little bit more.

Crowley gives a bit of a wince, and in a flash of understanding, Aziraphale’s eyes widen.

“So long?” he breathes, and Crowley’s smile is self-deprecating. Aziraphale determinedly kisses it away, until the sharp edges have smoothed out and Crowley is practically humming with satisfaction.

“I am so very sorry, my dear. You’ve been so patient,” Aziraphale can’t help but murmur, and a flash of what seems to be pain crosses Crowley’s face as his eyes close. Aziraphale brushes his lips over each of his eyelids, his nose, his lips, murmuring apologies and endearments, wrapping Crowley in his love in the hopes it could even begin to make up for how foolish he’s been.

“ _ Angel _ ,” Crowley finally gasps, sounding almost anguished, but when Aziraphale opens his eyes it's to gold irises nearly eclipsed by black, Crowley’s face flushed and lips parted. Aziraphale smiles and unlocks the door to his shop with a snap of his fingers, pulling Crowley in with long, lingering,  _ hungry _ kisses that draw a low groan from the demon.

Despite Crowley’s smoldering arousal, Aziraphale is determined to take his time. It takes a miracle (or two) to keep them from tripping over each other or the haphazard stacks of books which litter the store, but eventually they stumble their way into the back, Aziraphale’s fingers hooked in Crowley’s belt loops and Crowley chasing after his lips like he’s starved for Aziraphale’s kisses (and after 6,000 years, he likely is). Aziraphale topples somewhat gracelessly onto the sofa, and Crowley straddles him with a low  _ growl _ that thrums in Aziraphale’s bloodstream and sets his heart afire .

“ _ Aziraphale _ ,” Crowley gasps between kisses, his normally agile fingers clumsy in their urgency to unfasten Aziraphale’s waistcoat and rid him of the surely  _ frustrating _ number of layers separating him from Crowley’s eager hands. Aziraphale takes pity on him after a moment, miracling his clothes away from the waist up, and Crowley  _ groans _ as he digs his fingers into Aziraphale’s sides, pressing his body flush against him so the hardness of his arousal is unmistakable.

“Shush, darling, I’ve got you,” Aziraphale murmurs, only a  _ bit _ of a miracle aiding him in getting Crowley’s trousers unfastened while the serpent writhes in his lap. The deep,  _ filthy _ , guttural groan which escapes Crowley when he finally wraps his hand around him would fuel Aziraphale’s fantasies for  _ centuries _ if he didn’t have the real thing to contend with. As it is, he lets out a small answering moan, his hips lifting so his own erection presses against Crowley’s rump. A shudder visibly runs down Crowley’s spine, and he grinds against Aziraphale wantonly. Aziraphale can’t help but chuckle. “Eager, aren’t we?”

Crowley hisses at that, but he’s too flushed and aroused to argue with Aziraphale’s assessment, hips rocking back into Aziraphale’s erection and forward into his hand. After a moment’s consideration, Aziraphale miracles away Crowley’s clothes, having suddenly decided he wants to see exactly how far that flush goes. (The answer is, incidentally, down to Crowley’s chest, camouflaging the freckles that decorate his pale flesh like constellations. Aziraphale tastes every one of them, tracing patterns with his tongue, and Crowley  _ whines _ .)

“Look at you,” Aziraphale murmurs, leaning back so he can take in Crowley’s flushed form all the better. The demon’s engorged member is near-purple with arousal, leaking precome almost constantly. It makes a rather convenient bit of lubricant, and Aziraphale hardly needs to summon any more.   
  
“Angel,_ please_,” Crowley manages to get out, his fingers digging bruisingly hard into Aziraphale’s flesh where he’s gripped him by the shoulders, a ship in search of anchor while the storm of desperate desire crashes over him.   
  
“Tell me what you want, my dear,” Aziraphale coaxes him gently, softly, and Crowley lets out a strangled sound, almost pained. Aziraphale simply arches a brow in response, patient but insistent.  


“Let me-- Tell me I can come,” Crowley finally gasps out, desperation tearing the words from his throat, though he looks fairly agonized by how badly he clearly  _ needs _ this from Aziraphale. It earns a smile from Aziraphale, as he lets his hand slip down, testing the weight of Crowley’s testicles, feeling in the way they draw up taut that he's very close. Crowley quivers at the touch and lets out another whimper, his expression  _ pleading _ .  
  
Aziraphale leans in, brushes his lips against Crowley’s neck, his earlobe, a deliciously sensitive region he makes a note to return to again and again. (Because he's certain there will be a next time, and a time after that, on and on until the end of time itself. And even then, he's not sure it'll be enough for him.)   


“Come for me, my dear,” Aziraphale instructs softly, and he’s hardly laid a finger on Crowley’s cock again before he’s writhing, hips jerking and cock twitching as he spills over onto his own stomach, Aziraphale’s, and the rough tweed of Aziraphale’s trousers. Mildly put out by the latter, the angel swiftly miracles the mess away. He’s left with a shivering, bonelessly slumped serpent a moment later, Crowley plastering his body against Aziraphale’s despite the sweat which threatens to make them stick to one another. Aziraphale smiles, hardly even minding that his own erection has gone untended.

“Good boy,” Aziraphale murmurs. Crowley shivers, and it isn't long before the aftershocks of pleasure have faded, leaving him languid, limp, and relaxed in his angel's lap, already well on his way to drifting into a light doze. Aziraphale wouldn't have him anywhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are very welcome and appreciated! Just, easy on the constructive criticism plz.
> 
> Feel free to come follow me at https://prosthetical.tumblr.com/ where I currently post 90% Good Omens lmao.


End file.
